THE REFUGEES. A Tale of
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`I WAS CONSCIOUS ONLY
OF HER EYES'". . . . . . . . .Frontispiece
"`OUR ENGAGEMENT
IS AT AN END'". . . . . . . . . . . Facing p. 22
"SHE HAD
FAINTED". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ." " 92
"`STRUCK ME WITH
BOTH FISTS'". . . . . . . . . . . . . ." " 128
March 24. The spring is
fairly with us now. Outside my laboratory window the great chestnut-tree is all
covered with the big, glutinous, gummy buds, some of which have already begun
to break into little green shuttlecocks. As you walk down the lanes you are
conscious of the rich, silent forces of nature working all around you. The wet
earth smells fruitful and luscious. Green shoots are peeping out everywhere.
The twigs are stiff with their sap; and the moist, heavy English air is laden
with a faintly resinous perfume. Buds in the hedges, lambs beneath them --
everywhere the work of reproduction going forward!
I can see it without,
and I can feel it within. We also have our spring when the little arterioles
dilate, the lymph flows in a brisker stream, the glands work harder, winnowing
and straining. Every year nature readjusts the whole machine. I can feel the
ferment in my blood at this very moment, and as the cool sunshine pours through
my window I could dance about in it like a gnat. So I should, only that Charles
Sadler would rush upstairs to know what was the matter. Besides, I must
remember that I am Professor Gilroy. An old professor may afford to be natural,
but when fortune has given one of the first chairs in the university to a man of
four-and-thirty he must try and act the part consistently.
What a fellow Wilson
is! If I could only throw the same enthusiasm into physiology that he does into
psychology, I should become a Claude Bernard at the least. His whole life and
soul and energy work to one end. He drops to sleep collating his results of the
past day, and he wakes to plan his researches for the coming one. And yet,
outside the narrow circle who follow his proceedings, he gets so little credit
for it. Physiology is a recognized science. If I add even a brick to the
edifice, every one sees and applauds it. But Wilson is trying to dig the
foundations for a science of the future. His work is underground and does not
show. Yet he goes on uncomplainingly, corresponding with a hundred semi-maniacs
in the hope of finding one reliable witness, sifting a hundred lies on the
chance of gaining one little speck of truth, collating old books, devouring new
ones, experimenting, lecturing, trying to light up in others the fiery interest
which is consuming him. I am filled with wonder and admiration when I think of
him, and yet, when he asks me to associate myself with his researches, I am
compelled to tell him that, in their present state, they offer little
attraction to a man who is devoted to exact science. If he could show me
something positive and objective, I might then be tempted to approach the
question from its physiological side. So long as half his subjects are tainted
with charlatanerie and the other half with hysteria we physiologists must
content ourselves with the body and leave the mind to our descendants.
No doubt I am a
materialist. Agatha says that I am a rank one. I tell her that is an excellent
reason for shortening our engagement, since I am in such urgent need of her
spirituality. And yet I may claim to be a curious example of the effect of
education upon temperament, for by nature I am, unless I deceive myself, a
highly psychic man. I was a nervous, sensitive boy, a dreamer, a somnambulist,
full of impressions and intuitions. My black hair, my dark eyes, my thin, olive
face, my tapering fingers, are all characteristic of my real temperament, and
cause experts like Wilson to claim me as their own. But my brain is soaked with
exact knowledge. I have trained myself to deal only with fact and with proof.
Surmise and fancy have no place in my scheme of thought. Show me what I can see
with my microscope, cut with my scalpel, weigh in my balance, and I will devote
a lifetime to its investigation. But when you ask me to study feelings, impressions,
suggestions, you ask me to do what is distasteful and even demoralizing. A
departure from pure reason affects me like an evil smell or a musical discord.
Which is a very
sufficient reason why I am a little loath to go to Professor Wilson's tonight.
Still I feel that I could hardly get out of the invitation without positive
rudeness; and, now that Mrs. Marden and Agatha are going, of course I would not
if I could. But I had rather meet them anywhere else. I know that Wilson would
draw me into this nebulous semi-science of his if he could. In his enthusiasm
he is perfectly impervious to hints or remonstrances. Nothing short of a
positive quarrel will make him realize my aversion to the whole business. I
have no doubt that he has some new mesmerist or clairvoyant or medium or
trickster of some sort whom he is going to exhibit to us, for even his
entertainments bear upon his hobby. Well, it will be a treat for Agatha, at any
rate. She is interested in it, as woman usually is in whatever is vague and
mystical and indefinite.
10.50 P. M. This
diary-keeping of mine is, I fancy, the outcome of that scientific habit of mind
about which I wrote this morning. I like to register impressions while they are
fresh. Once a day at least I endeavor to define my own mental position. It is a
useful piece of self-analysis, and has, I fancy, a steadying effect upon the
character. Frankly, I must confess that my own needs what stiffening I can give
it. I fear that, after all, much of my neurotic temperament survives, and that
I am far from that cool, calm precision which characterizes Murdoch or Pratt-
Haldane. Otherwise, why should the tomfoolery which I have witnessed this
evening have set my nerves thrilling so that even now I am all unstrung? My
only comfort is that neither Wilson nor Miss Penclosa nor even Agatha could
have possibly known my weakness.
And what in the world
was there to excite me? Nothing, or so little that it will seem ludicrous when
I set it down.
The Mardens got to
Wilson's before me. In fact, I was one of the last to arrive and found the room
crowded. I had hardly time to say a word to Mrs. Marden and to Agatha, who was
looking charming in white and pink, with glittering wheat-ears in her hair,
when Wilson came twitching at my sleeve.
"You want
something positive, Gilroy," said he, drawing me apart into a corner.
"My dear fellow, I have a phenomenon -- a phenomenon!"
I should have been more
impressed had I not heard the same before. His sanguine spirit turns every
fire- fly into a star.
"No possible
question about the bona fides this time," said he, in answer, perhaps, to
some little gleam of amusement in my eyes. "My wife has known her for many
years. They both come from Trinidad, you know. Miss Penclosa has only been in
England a month or two, and knows no one outside the university circle, but I
assure you that the things she has told us suffice in themselves to establish
clairvoyance upon an absolutely scientific basis. There is nothing like her,
amateur or professional. Come and be introduced!"
I like none of these
mystery-mongers, but the amateur least of all. With the paid performer you may
pounce upon him and expose him the instant that you have seen through his
trick. He is there to deceive you, and you are there to find him out. But what
are you to do with the friend of your host's wife? Are you to turn on a light
suddenly and expose her slapping a surreptitious banjo? Or are you to hurl
cochineal over her evening frock when she steals round with her phosphorus
bottle and her supernatural platitude? There would he a scene, and you would be
looked upon as a brute. So you have your choice of being that or a dupe. I was
in no very good humor as I followed Wilson to the lady.
Any one less like my
idea of a West Indian could not be imagined. She was a small, frail creature,
well over forty, I should say, with a pale, peaky face, and hair of a very
light shade of chestnut. Her presence was insignificant and her manner
retiring. In any group of ten women she would have been the last whom one would
have picked out. Her eyes were perhaps her most remarkable, and also, I am
compelled to say, her least pleasant, feature. They were gray in color, -- gray
with a shade of green, -- and their expression struck me as being decidedly
furtive. I wonder if furtive is the word, or should I have said fierce? On
second thoughts, feline would have expressed it better. A crutch leaning
against the wall told me what was painfully evident when she rose: that one of
her legs was crippled.
So I was introduced to
Miss Penclosa, and it did not escape me that as my name was mentioned she
glanced across at Agatha. Wilson had evidently been talking. And presently, no
doubt, thought I, she will inform me by occult means that I am engaged to a
young lady with wheat-ears in her hair. I wondered how much more Wilson had
been telling her about me.
"Professor Gilroy
is a terrible sceptic," said he; "I hope, Miss Penclosa, that you
will be able to convert him."
She looked keenly up at
me.
"Professor Gilroy
is quite right to be sceptical if he has not seen any thing convincing,"
said she. "I should have thought," she added, "that you would
yourself have been an excellent subject."
"For what, may I
ask?" said I.
"Well, for
mesmerism, for example."
"My experience has
been that mesmerists go for their subjects to those who are mentally unsound.
All their results are vitiated, as it seems to me, by the fact that they are
dealing with abnormal organisms."
"Which of these
ladies would you say possessed a normal organism?" she asked. "I
should like you to select the one who seems to you to have the best balanced
mind. Should we say the girl in pink and white? -- Miss Agatha Marden, I think
the name is."
"Yes, I should
attach weight to any results from her."
"I have never
tried how far she is impressionable. Of course some people respond much more
rapidly than others. May I ask how far your scepticism extends? I suppose that
you admit the mesmeric sleep and the power of suggestion."
"I admit nothing,
Miss Penclosa."
"Dear me, I
thought science had got further than that. Of course I know nothing about the
scientific side of it. I only know what I can do. You see the girl in red, for
example, over near the Japanese jar. I shall will that she come across to us."
She bent forward as she
spoke and dropped her fan upon the floor. The girl whisked round and came
straight toward us, with an enquiring look upon her face, as if some one had
called her.
"What do you think
of that, Gilroy?" cried Wilson, in a kind of ecstasy.
I did not dare to tell
him what I thought of it. To me it was the most barefaced, shameless piece of
imposture that I had ever witnessed. The collusion and the signal had really
been too obvious.
"Professor Gilroy
is not satisfied," said she, glancing up at me with her strange little
eyes. "My poor fan is to get the credit of that experiment. Well, we must
try something else. Miss Marden, would you have any objection to my putting you
off?"
"Oh, I should love
it!" cried Agatha.
By this time all the
company had gathered round us in a circle, the shirt-fronted men, and the
white- throated women, some awed, some critical, as though it were something
between a religious ceremony and a conjurer's entertainment. A red velvet
arm-chair had been pushed into the centre, and Agatha lay back in it, a little
flushed and trembling slightly from excitement. I could see it from the
vibration of the wheat-ears. Miss Penclosa rose from her seat and stood over
her, leaning upon her crutch.
And there was a change
in the woman. She no longer seemed small or insignificant. Twenty years were
gone from her age. Her eyes were shining, a tinge of color had come into her
sallow cheeks, her whole figure had expanded. So I have seen a dull-eyed,
listless lad change in an instant into briskness and life when given a task of
which he felt himself master. She looked down at Agatha with an expression
which I resented from the bottom of my soul -- the expression with which a
Roman empress might have looked at her kneeling slave. Then with a quick,
commanding gesture she tossed up her arms and swept them slowly down in front
of her.
I was watching Agatha
narrowly. During three passes she seemed to be simply amused. At the fourth I
observed a slight glazing of her eyes, accompanied by some dilation of her
pupils. At the sixth there was a momentary rigor. At the seventh her lids began
to droop. At the tenth her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slower and
fuller than usual. I tried as I watched to preserve my scientific calm, but a
foolish, causeless agitation convulsed me. I trust that I hid it, but I felt as
a child feels in the dark. I could not have believed that I was still open to
such weakness.
"She is in the
trance," said Miss Penclosa.
"She is
sleeping!" I cried.
"Wake her,
then!"
I pulled her by the arm
and shouted in her ear. She might have been dead for all the impression that I
could make. Her body was there on the velvet chair. Her organs were acting --
her heart, her lungs. But her soul! It had slipped from beyond our ken. Whither
had it gone? What power had dispossessed it? I was puzzled and disconcerted.
"So much for the
mesmeric sleep," said Miss Penclosa. "As regards suggestion, whatever
I may suggest Miss Marden will infallibly do, whether it be now or after she
has awakened from her trance. Do you demand proof of it?"
"Certainly,"
said I.
"You shall have
it." I saw a smile pass over her face, as though an amusing thought had
struck her. She stooped and whispered earnestly into her subject's ear. Agatha,
who had been so deaf to me, nodded her head as she listened.
"Awake!"
cried Miss Penclosa, with a sharp tap of her crutch upon the floor. The eyes
opened, the glazing cleared slowly away, and the soul looked out once more
after its strange eclipse.
We went away early.
Agatha was none the worse for her strange excursion, but I was nervous and
unstrung, unable to listen to or answer the stream of comments which Wilson was
pouring out for my benefit. As I bade her good-night Miss Penclosa slipped a
piece of paper into my hand.
"Pray forgive
me," said she, "if I take means to overcome your scepticism. Open
this note at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. It is a little private test."
I can't imagine what
she means, but there is the note, and it shall be opened as she directs. My
head is aching, and I have written enough for to-night. To- morrow I dare say
that what seems so inexplicable will take quite another complexion. I shall not
surrender my convictions without a struggle.
March 25. I am amazed,
confounded. It is clear that I must reconsider my opinion upon this matter. But
first let me place on record what has occurred.
I had finished
breakfast, and was looking over some diagrams with which my lecture is to be
illustrated, when my housekeeper entered to tell me that Agatha was in my study
and wished to see me immediately. I glanced at the clock and saw with surprise
that it was only half- past nine.
When I entered the
room, she was standing on the hearth-rug facing me. Something in her pose
chilled me and checked the words which were rising to my lips. Her veil was
half down, but I could see that she was pale and that her expression was
constrained.
"Austin," she
said, "I have come to tell you that our engagement is at an end."
I staggered. I believe
that I literally did stagger. I know that I found myself leaning against the
bookcase for support.
"But -- but -- --
" I stammered. "This is very sudden, Agatha."
"Yes, Austin, I
have come here to tell you that our engagement is at an end."
"But surely,"
I cried, "you will give me some reason! This is unlike you, Agatha. Tell
me how I have been unfortunate enough to offend you."
"It is all over, Austin."
"But why? You must
be under some delusion, Agatha. Perhaps you have been told some falsehood about
me. Or you may have misunderstood something that I have said to you. Only let
me know what it is, and a word may set it all right."
"We must consider
it all at an end."
"But you left me
last night without a hint at any disagreement. What could have occurred in the
interval to change you so? It must have been something that happened last
night. You have been thinking it over and you have disapproved of my conduct.
Was it the mesmerism? Did you blame me for letting that woman exercise her
power over you? You know that at the least sign I should have interfered."
"It is useless,
Austin. All is over:"
Her voice was cold and
measured; her manner strangely formal and hard. It seemed to me that she was
absolutely resolved not to be drawn into any argument or explanation. As for
me, I was shaking with agitation, and I turned my face aside, so ashamed was I
that she should see my want of control.
"You must know
what this means to me!" I cried. "It is the blasting of all my hopes
and the ruin of my life! You surely will not inflict such a punishment upon me
unheard. You will let me know what is the matter. Consider how impossible it
would be for me, under any circumstances, to treat you so. For God's sake,
Agatha, let me know what I have done!"
She walked past me
without a word and opened the door.
"It is quite
useless, Austin," said she. "You must consider our engagement at an
end." An instant later she was gone, and, before I could recover myself
sufficiently to follow her, I heard the hall-door close behind her.
I rushed into my room
to change my coat, with the idea of hurrying round to Mrs. Marden's to learn
from her what the cause of my misfortune might be. So shaken was I that I could
hardly lace my boots. Never shall I forget those horrible ten minutes. I had
just pulled on my overcoat when the clock upon the mantel- piece struck ten.
Ten! I associated the
idea with Miss Penclosa's note. It was lying before me on the table, and I tore
it open. It was scribbled in pencil in a peculiarly angular handwriting.
"MY DEAR PROFESSOR
GILROY [it said]: Pray excuse the personal nature of the test which I am giving
you. Professor Wilson happened to mention the relations between you and my
subject of this evening, and it struck me that nothing could be more convincing
to you than if I were to suggest to Miss Marden that she should call upon you
at half-past nine to-morrow morning and suspend your engagement for half an
hour or so. Science is so exacting that it is difficult to give a satisfying
test, but I am convinced that this at least will be an action which she would
be most unlikely to do of her own free will. Forget any thing that she may have
said, as she has really nothing whatever to do with it, and will certainly not
recollect any thing about it. I write this note to shorten your anxiety, and to
beg you to forgive me for the momentary unhappiness which my suggestion must
have caused you.
"Yours faithfully;
"HELEN PENCLOSA.
Really, when I had read
the note, I was too relieved to be angry. It was a liberty. Certainly it was a
very great liberty indeed on the part of a lady whom I had only met once. But,
after all, I had challenged her by my scepticism. It may have been, as she
said, a little difficult to devise a test which would satisfy me.
And she had done that.
There could be no question at all upon the point. For me hypnotic suggestion
was finally established. It took its place from now onward as one of the facts
of life. That Agatha, who of all women of my acquaintance has the best balanced
mind, had been reduced to a condition of automatism appeared to be certain. A
person at a distance had worked her as an engineer on the shore might guide a
Brennan torpedo. A second soul had stepped in, as it were, had pushed her own
aside, and had seized her nervous mechanism, saying: "I will work this for
half an hour." And Agatha must have been unconscious as she came and as
she returned. Could she make her way in safety through the streets in such a
state? I put on my hat and hurried round to see if all was well with her.
Yes. She was at home. I
was shown into the drawing-room and found her sitting with a book upon her lap.
"You are an early
visitor, Austin," said she, smiling.
"And you have been
an even earlier one," I answered.
She looked puzzled.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You have not been
out to-day?"
"No, certainly
not."
"Agatha,"
said I seriously, "would you mind telling me exactly what you have done
this morning?"
She laughed at my
earnestness.
"You've got on
your professional look, Austin. See what comes of being engaged to a man of
science. However, I will tell you, though I can't imagine what you want to know
for. I got up at eight. I breakfasted at half-past. I came into this room at
ten minutes past nine and began to read the `Memoirs of Mme. de Remusat.' In a
few minutes I did the French lady the bad compliment of dropping to sleep over
her pages, and I did you, sir, the very flattering one of dreaming about you.
It is only a few minutes since I woke up."
"And found
yourself where you had been before?"
"Why, where else
should I find myself?"
"Would you mind
telling me, Agatha, what it was that you dreamed about me? It really is not
mere curiosity on my part."
"I merely had a
vague impression that you came into it. I cannot recall any thing
definite."
"If you have not
been out to-day, Agatha, how is it that your shoes are dusty?"
A pained look came over
her face.
"Really, Austin, I
do not know what is the matter with you this morning. One would almost think
that you doubted my word. If my boots are dusty, it must be, of course, that I
have put on a pair which the maid had not cleaned."
It was perfectly
evident that she knew nothing whatever about the matter, and I reflected that,
after all, perhaps it was better that I should not enlighten her. It might
frighten her, and could serve no good purpose that I could see. I said no more
about it, therefore, and left shortly afterward to give my lecture.
But I am immensely
impressed. My horizon of scientific possibilities has suddenly been enormously
extended. I no longer wonder at Wilson's demonic energy and enthusiasm. Who
would not work hard who had a vast virgin field ready to his hand? Why, I have
known the novel shape of a nucleolus, or a trifling peculiarity of striped
muscular fibre seen under a 300- diameter lens, fill me with exultation. How
petty do such researches seem when compared with this one which strikes at the
very roots of life and the nature of the soul! I had always looked upon spirit
as a product of matter. The brain, I thought, secreted the mind, as the liver
does the bile. But how can this be when I see mind working from a distance and
playing upon matter as a musician might upon a violin? The body does not give
rise to the soul, then, but is rather the rough instrument by which the spirit
manifests itself. The windmill does not give rise to the wind, but only indicates
it. It was opposed to my whole habit of thought, and yet it was undeniably
possible and worthy of investigation.
And why should I not
investigate it? I see that under yesterday's date I said: "If I could see
something positive and objective, I might be tempted to approach it from the
physiological aspect." Well, I have got my test. I shall be as good as my
word. The investigation would, I am sure, be of immense interest. Some of my
colleagues might look askance at it, for science is full of unreasoning prejudices,
but if Wilson has the courage of his convictions, I can afford to have it also.
I shall go to him to-morrow morning -- to him and to Miss Penclosa. If she can
show us so much, it is probable that she can show us more.
March 26. Wilson was,
as I had anticipated, very exultant over my conversion, and Miss Penclosa was
also demurely pleased at the result of her experiment. Strange what a silent,
colorless creature she is save only when she exercises her power! Even talking
about it gives her color and life. She seems to take a singular interest in me.
I cannot help observing how her eyes follow me about the room.
We had the most
interesting conversation about her own powers. It is just as well to put her
views on record, though they cannot, of course, claim any scientific weight.
"You are on the
very fringe of the subject," said she, when I had expressed wonder at the
remarkable instance of suggestion which she had shown me. "I had no direct
influence upon Miss Marden when she came round to you. I was not even thinking
of her that morning. What I did was to set her mind as I might set the alarum
of a clock so that at the hour named it would go off of its own accord. If six
months instead of twelve hours had been suggested, it would have been the
same."
"And if the
suggestion had been to assassinate me?"
"She would most
inevitably have done so."
"But this is a
terrible power!" I cried.
"It is, as you
say, a terrible power," she answered gravely, "and the more you know
of it the more terrible will it seem to you."
"May I ask,"
said I, "what you meant when you said that this matter of suggestion is
only at the fringe of it? What do you consider the essential?"
"I had rather not
tell you."
I was surprised at the
decision of her answer.
"You
understand," said I, "that it is not out of curiosity I ask, but in
the hope that I may find some scientific explanation for the facts with which
you furnish me."
"Frankly,
Professor Gilroy," said she, "I am not at all interested in science,
nor do I care whether it can or cannot classify these powers."
"But I was hoping
-- -- "
"Ah, that is quite
another thing. If you make it a personal matter," said she, with the
pleasantest of smiles, "I shall be only too happy to tell you any thing
you wish to know. Let me see; what was it you asked me? Oh, about the further
powers. Professor Wilson won't believe in them, but they are quite true all the
same. For example, it is possible for an operator to gain complete command over
his subject -- presuming that the latter is a good one. Without any previous
suggestion he may make him do whatever he likes."
"Without the
subject's knowledge?"
"That depends. If
the force were strongly exerted, he would know no more about it than Miss
Marden did when she came round and frightened you so. Or, if the influence was
less powerful, he might be conscious of what he was doing, but be quite unable
to prevent himself from doing it."
"Would he have
lost his own will power, then?"
"It would be
over-ridden by another stronger one."
"Have you ever
exercised this power yourself?"
"Several
times."
"Is your own will
so strong, then?"
"Well, it does not
entirely depend upon that. Many have strong wills which are not detachable from
them selves. The thing is to have the gift of projecting it into another person
and superseding his own. I find that the power varies with my own strength and
health."
"Practically, you
send your soul into another person's body."
"Well, you might
put it that way."
"And what does
your own body do?"
"It merely feels
lethargic."
"Well, but is
there no danger to your own health?" I asked.
"There might be a
little. You have to be careful never to let your own consciousness absolutely
go; otherwise, you might experience some difficulty in finding your way back
again. You must always preserve the connection, as it were. I am afraid I
express myself very badly, Professor Gilroy, but of course I don't know how to
put these things in a scientific way. I am just giving you my own experiences
and my own explanations."
Well, I read this over
now at my leisure, and I marvel at myself! Is this Austin Gilroy, the man who
has won his way to the front by his hard reasoning power and by his devotion to
fact? Here I am gravely retailing the gossip of a woman who tells me how her
soul may be projected from her body, and how, while she lies in a lethargy, she
can control the actions of people at a distance. Do I accept it? Certainly not.
She must prove and re-prove before I yield a point. But if I am still a
sceptic, I have at least ceased to be a scoffer. We are to have a sitting this
evening, and she is to try if she can produce any mesmeric effect upon me. If
she can, it will make an excellent starting-point for our investigation. No one
can accuse me, at any rate, of complicity. If she cannot, we must try and find
some subject who will be like Caesar's wife. Wilson is perfectly impervious.
10 P. M. I believe that
I am on the threshold of an epoch-making investigation. To have the power of
examining these phenomena from inside -- to have an organism which will
respond, and at the same time a brain which will appreciate and criticise --
that is surely a unique advantage. I am quite sure that Wilson would give five
years of his life to be as susceptible as I have proved myself to be.
There was no one
present except Wilson and his wife. I was seated with my head leaning back, and
Miss Penclosa, standing in front and a little to the left, used the same long,
sweeping strokes as with Agatha. At each of them a warm current of air seemed
to strike me, and to suffuse a thrill and glow all through me from head to
foot. My eyes were fixed upon Miss Penclosa's face, but as I gazed the features
seemed to blur and to fade away. I was conscious only of her own eyes looking
down at me, gray, deep, inscrutable. Larger they grew and larger, until they
changed suddenly into two mountain lakes toward which I seemed to be falling
with horrible rapidity. I shuddered, and as I did so some deeper stratum of
thought told me that the shudder represented the rigor which I had observed in
Agatha. An instant later I struck the surface of the lakes, now joined into
one, and down I went beneath the water with a fulness in my head and a buzzing
in my ears. Down I went, down, down, and then with a swoop up again until I
could see the light streaming brightly through the green water. I was almost at
the surface when the word "Awake!" rang through my head, and, with a
start, I found myself back in the arm-chair, with Miss Penclosa leaning on her
crutch, and Wilson, his note book in his hand, peeping over her shoulder. No
heaviness or weariness was left behind. On the contrary, though it is only an
hour or so since the experiment, I feel so wakeful that I am more inclined for
my study than my bedroom. I see quite a vista of interesting experiments
extending before us, and am all impatience to begin upon them.
March 27. A blank day,
as Miss Penclosa goes with Wilson and his wife to the Suttons'. Have begun
Binet and Ferre's "Animal Magnetism." What strange, deep waters these
are! Results, results, results -- and the cause an absolute mystery. It is
stimulating to the imagination, but I must be on my guard against that. Let us
have no inferences nor deductions, and nothing but solid facts. I know that the
mesmeric trance is true; I know that mesmeric suggestion is true; I know that I
am myself sensitive to this force. That is my present position. I have a large
new note-book which shall be devoted entirely to scientific detail.
Long talk with Agatha
and Mrs. Marden in the evening about our marriage. We think that the summer
vac. (the beginning of it) would be the best time for the wedding. Why should
we delay? I grudge even those few months. Still, as Mrs. Marden says, there are
a good many things to be arranged.
March 28. Mesmerized
again by Miss Penclosa. Experience much the same as before, save that
insensibility came on more quickly. See Note-book A for temperature of room,
barometric pressure, pulse, and respiration as taken by Professor Wilson.
March 29. Mesmerized
again. Details in Note-book A.
March 30. Sunday, and a
blank day. I grudge any interruption of our experiments. At present they merely
embrace the physical signs which go with slight, with complete, and with
extreme insensibility. Afterward we hope to pass on to the phenomena of
suggestion and of lucidity. Professors have demonstrated these things upon
women at Nancy and at the Salpetriere. It will be more convincing when a woman
demonstrates it upon a professor, with a second professor as a witness. And
that I should be the subject -- I, the sceptic, the materialist! At least, I
have shown that my devotion to science is greater than to my own personal
consistency. The eating of our own words is the greatest sacrifice which truth
ever requires of us.
My neighbor, Charles
Sadler, the handsome young demonstrator of anatomy, came in this evening to
return a volume of Virchow's "Archives" which I had lent him. I call
him young, but, as a matter of fact, he is a year older than I am.
"I understand,
Gilroy," said he, "that you are being experimented upon by Miss
Penclosa.
"Well," he
went on, when I had acknowledged it, "if I were you, I should not let it
go any further. You will think me very impertinent, no doubt, but, none the
less, I feel it to be my duty to advise you to have no more to do with
her."
Of course I asked him
why.
"I am so placed
that I cannot enter into particulars as freely as I could wish," said he.
"Miss Penclosa is the friend of my friend, and my position is a delicate
one. I can only say this: that I have myself been the subject of some of the
woman's experiments, and that they have left a most unpleasant impression upon
my mind."
He could hardly expect
me to be satisfied with that, and I tried hard to get something more definite
out of him, but without success. Is it conceivable that he could be jealous at
my having superseded him? Or is he one of those men of science who feel
personally injured when facts run counter to their preconceived opinions? He
cannot seriously suppose that because he has some vague grievance I am,
therefore, to abandon a series of experiments which promise to be so fruitful
of results. He appeared to be annoyed at the light way in which I treated his
shadowy warnings, and we parted with some little coldness on both sides.
March 31. Mesmerized by
Miss P.
April 1. Mesmerized by
Miss P. (Note-book A.)
April 2. Mesmerized by
Miss P. (Sphygmographic chart taken by Professor Wilson.)
April 3. It is possible
that this course of mesmerism may be a little trying to the general
constitution. Agatha says that I am thinner and darker under the eyes. I am
conscious of a nervous irritability which I had not observed in myself before.
The least noise, for example, makes me start, and the stupidity of a student
causes me exasperation instead of amusement. Agatha wishes me to stop, but I
tell her that every course of study is trying, and that one can never attain a
result with out paying some price for it. When she sees the sensation which my
forthcoming paper on "The Relation between Mind and Matter" may make,
she will understand that it is worth a little nervous wear and tear. I should
not be surprised if I got my F. R. S. over it.
Mesmerized again in the
evening. The effect is produced more rapidly now, and the subjective visions
are less marked. I keep full notes of each sitting. Wilson is leaving for town
for a week or ten days, but we shall not interrupt the experiments, which
depend for their value as much upon my sensations as on his observations.
April 4. I must be
carefully on my guard. A complication has crept into our experiments which I
had not reckoned upon. In my eagerness for scientific facts I have been
foolishly blind to the human relations between Miss Penclosa and myself. I can
write here what I would not breathe to a living soul. The unhappy woman appears
to have formed an attachment for me.
I should not say such a
thing, even in the privacy of my own intimate journal, if it had not come to
such a pass that it is impossible to ignore it. For some time, -- that is, for
the last week, -- there have been signs which I have brushed aside and refused
to think of. Her brightness when I come, her dejection when I go, her eagerness
that I should come often, the expression of her eyes, the tone of her voice --
I tried to think that they meant nothing, and were, perhaps, only her ardent
West Indian manner. But last night, as I awoke from the mesmeric sleep, I put
out my hand, unconsciously, involuntarily, and clasped hers. When I came fully
to myself, we were sitting with them locked, she looking up at me with an
expectant smile. And the horrible thing was that I felt impelled to say what
she expected me to say. What a false wretch I should have been! How I should
have loathed myself to- day had I yielded to the temptation of that moment!
But, thank God, I was strong enough to spring up and hurry from the room. I was
rude, I fear, but I could not, no, I could not, trust myself another moment. I,
a gentleman, a man of honor, engaged to one of the sweetest girls in England --
and yet in a moment of reasonless passion I nearly professed love for this
woman whom I hardly know. She is far older than myself and a cripple. It is
monstrous, odious; and yet the impulse was so strong that, had I stayed another
minute in her presence, I should have committed myself. What was it? I have to
teach others the workings of our organism, and what do I know of it myself? Was
it the sudden upcropping of some lower stratum in my nature -- a brutal
primitive instinct suddenly asserting itself? I could almost believe the tales
of obsession by evil spirits, so overmastering was the feeling.
Well, the incident
places me in a most unfortunate position. On the one hand, I am very loath to
abandon a series of experiments which have already gone so far, and which
promise such brilliant results. On the other, if this unhappy woman has
conceived a passion for me -- -- But surely even now I must have made some
hideous mistake. She, with her age and her deformity! It is impossible. And
then she knew about Agatha. She understood how I was placed. She only smiled
out of amusement, perhaps, when in my dazed state I seized her hand. It was my
half-mesmerized brain which gave it a meaning, and sprang with such bestial
swiftness to meet it. I wish I could persuade myself that it was indeed so. On
the whole, perhaps, my wisest plan would be to postpone our other experiments
until Wilson's return. I have written a note to Miss Penclosa, therefore,
making no allusion to last night, but saying that a press of work would cause
me to interrupt our sittings for a few days. She has answered, formally enough,
to say that if I should change my mind I should find her at home at the usual
hour.
10 P. M. Well, well,
what a thing of straw I am! I am coming to know myself better of late, and the
more I know the lower I fall in my own estimation. Surely I was not always so
weak as this. At four o'clock I should have smiled had any one told me that I
should go to Miss Penclosa's to-night, and yet, at eight, I was at Wilson's
door as usual. I don't know how it occurred. The influence of habit, I suppose.
Perhaps there is a mesmeric craze as there is an opium craze, and I am a victim
to it. I only know that as I worked in my study I became more and more uneasy.
I fidgeted. I worried. I could not concentrate my mind upon the papers in front
of me. And then, at last, almost before I knew what I was doing, I seized my
hat and hurried round to keep my usual appointment.
We had an interesting
evening. Mrs. Wilson was present during most of the time, which prevented the
embarrassment which one at least of us must have felt. Miss Penclosa's manner
was quite the same as usual, and she expressed no surprise at my having come in
spite of my note. There was nothing in her bearing to show that yesterday's
incident had made any impression upon her, and so I am inclined to hope that I
overrated it.
April 6 (evening). No,
no, no, I did not overrate it. I can no longer attempt to conceal from myself
that this woman has conceived a passion for me. It is monstrous, but it is
true. Again, tonight, I awoke from the mesmeric trance to find my hand in hers,
and to suffer that odious feeling which urges me to throw away my honor, my
career, every thing, for the sake of this creature who, as I can plainly see
when I am away from her influence, possesses no single charm upon earth. But
when I am near her, I do not feel this. She rouses something in me, something
evil, something I had rather not think of. She paralyzes my better nature, too,
at the moment when she stimulates my worse. Decidedly it is not good for me to
be near her.
Last night was worse
than before. Instead of flying I actually sat for some time with my hand in
hers talking over the most intimate subjects with her. We spoke of Agatha,
among other things. What could I have been dreaming of? Miss Penclosa said that
she was conventional, and I agreed with her. She spoke once or twice in a
disparaging way of her, and I did not protest. What a creature I have been!
Weak as I have proved
myself to be, I am still strong enough to bring this sort of thing to an end.
It shall not happen again. I have sense enough to fly when I cannot fight. From
this Sunday night onward I shall never sit with Miss Penclosa again. Never! Let
the experiments go, let the research come to an end; any thing is better than
facing this monstrous temptation which drags me so low. I have said nothing to
Miss Penclosa, but I shall simply stay away. She can tell the reason without
any words of mine.
April 7. Have stayed
away as I said. It is a pity to ruin such an interesting investigation, but it
would be a greater pity still to ruin my life, and I know that I cannot trust
myself with that woman.
11 P. M. God help me!
What is the matter with me? Am I going mad? Let me try and be calm and reason
with myself. First of all I shall set down exactly what occurred.
It was nearly eight
when I wrote the lines with which this day begins. Feel ing strangely restless
and uneasy, I left my rooms and walked round to spend the evening with Agatha
and her mother. They both remarked that I was pale and haggard. About nine
Professor Pratt-Haldane came in, and we played a game of whist. I tried hard to
concentrate my attention upon the cards, but the feeling of restlessness grew
and grew until I found it impossible to struggle against it. I simply could not
sit still at the table. At last, in the very middle of a hand, I threw my cards
down and, with some sort of an incoherent apology about having an appointment,
I rushed from the room. As if in a dream I have a vague recollection of tearing
through the hall, snatching my hat from the stand, and slamming the door behind
me. As in a dream, too, I have the impression of the double line of gas-lamps,
and my bespattered boots tell me that I must have run down the middle of the
road. It was all misty and strange and unnatural. I came to Wilson's house; I
saw Mrs. Wilson and I saw Miss Penclosa. I hardly recall what we talked about,
but I do remember that Miss P. shook the head of her crutch at me in a playful
way, and accused me of being late and of losing interest in our experiments.
There was no mesmerism, but I stayed some time and have only just returned.
My brain is quite clear
again now, and I can think over what has occurred. It is absurd to suppose that
it is merely weakness and force of habit. I tried to explain it in that way the
other night, but it will no longer suffice. It is something much deeper and
more terrible than that. Why, when I was at the Mardens' whist-table, I was
dragged away as if the noose of a rope had been cast round me. I can no longer
disguise it from myself. The woman has her grip upon me. I am in her clutch.
But I must keep my head and reason it out and see what is best to be done.
But what a blind fool I
have been! In my enthusiasm over my research I have walked straight into the pit,
although it lay gaping before me. Did she not herself warn me? Did she not tell
me, as I can read in my own journal, that when she has acquired power over a
subject she can make him do her will? And she has acquired that power over me.
I am for the moment at the beck and call of this creature with the crutch. I
must come when she wills it. I must do as she wills. Worst of all, I must feel
as she wills. I loathe her and fear her, yet, while I am under the spell, she
can doubtless make me love her.
There is some
consolation in the thought, then, that those odious impulses for which I have
blamed myself do not really come from me at all. They are all transferred from
her, little as I could have guessed it at the time. I feel cleaner and lighter
for the thought.
April 8. Yes, now, in
broad daylight, writing coolly and with time for reflection, I am compelled to
confirm every thing which I wrote in my journal last night. I am in a horrible
position, but, above all, I must not lose my head. I must pit my intellect
against her powers. After all, I am no silly puppet, to dance at the end of a
string. I have energy, brains, courage. For all her devil's tricks I may beat
her yet. May! I must, or what is to become of me?
Let me try to reason it
out! This woman, by her own explanation, can dominate my nervous organism. She
can project herself into my body and take command of it. She has a parasite
soul; yes, she is a parasite, a monstrous parasite. She creeps into my frame as
the hermit crab does into the whelk's shell. I am powerless What can I do? I am
dealing with forces of which I know nothing. And I can tell no one of my
trouble. They would set me down as a madman. Certainly, if it got noised
abroad, the university would say that they had no need of a devil-ridden
professor. And Agatha! No, no, I must face it alone.
I read over my notes of
what the woman said when she spoke about her powers. There is one point which
fills me with dismay. She implies that when the influence is slight the subject
knows what he is doing, but cannot control himself, whereas when it is strongly
exerted he is absolutely unconscious. Now, I have always known what I did,
though less so last night than on the previous occasions. That seems to mean
that she has never yet exerted her full powers upon me. Was ever a man so
placed before?
Yes, perhaps there was,
and very near me, too. Charles Sadler must know something of this! His vague
words of warning take a meaning now. Oh, if I had only listened to him then,
before I helped by these repeated sittings to forge the links of the chain
which binds me! But I will see him to-day. I will apologize to him for having
treated his warning so lightly. I will see if he can advise me.
4 P. M. No, he cannot.
I have talked with him, and he showed such surprise at the first words in which
I tried to express my unspeakable secret that I went no further. As far as I
can gather (by hints and inferences rather than by any statement), his own
experience was limited to some words or looks such as I have myself endured.
His abandonment of Miss Penclosa is in itself a sign that he was never really
in her toils. Oh, if he only knew his escape! He has to thank his phlegmatic
Saxon temperament for it. I am black and Celtic, and this hag's clutch is deep
in my nerves. Shall I ever get it out? Shall I ever be the same man that I was
just one short fortnight ago?
Let me consider what I
had better do. I cannot leave the university in the middle of the term. If I
were free, my course would be obvious. I should start at once and travel in
Persia. But would she allow me to start? And could her influence not reach me
in Persia, and bring me back to within touch of her crutch? I can only find out
the limits of this hellish power by my own bitter experience. I will fight and
fight and fight -- and what can I do more?
I know very well that
about eight o'clock to-night that craving for her society, that irresistible
restlessness, will come upon me. How shall I overcome it? What shall I do? I
must make it impossible for me to leave the room. I shall lock the door and
throw the key out of the window. But, then, what am I to do in the morning?
Never mind about the morning. I must at all costs break this chain which holds
me.
April 9. Victory! I
have done splendidly! At seven o'clock last night I took a hasty dinner, and
then locked myself up in my bedroom and dropped the key into the garden. I
chose a cheery novel, and lay in bed for three hours trying to read it, but
really in a horrible state of trepidation, expecting every instant that I
should become conscious of the impulse. Nothing of the sort occurred, however,
and I awoke this morning with the feeling that a black nightmare had been
lifted off me. Perhaps the creature realized what I had done, and understood
that it was useless to try to influence me. At any rate, I have beaten her
once, and if I can do it once, I can do it again.
It was most awkward
about the key in the morning. Luckily, there was an under-gardener below, and I
asked him to throw it up. No doubt he thought I had just dropped it. I will
have doors and windows screwed up and six stout men to hold me down in my bed
before I will surrender myself to be hag-ridden in this way.
I had a note from Mrs.
Marden this afternoon asking me to go round and see her. I intended to do so in
any case, but had not excepted to find bad news waiting for me. It seems that
the Armstrongs, from whom Agatha has expectations, are due home from Adelaide
in the Aurora, and that they have written to Mrs. Marden and her to meet them
in town. They will probably be away for a month or six weeks, and, as the
Aurora is due on Wednesday, they must go at once -- to-morrow, if they are
ready in time. My consolation is that when we meet again there will be no more
parting between Agatha and me.
"I want you to do
one thing, Agatha," said I, when we were alone together. "If you
should happen to meet Miss Penclosa, either in town or here, you must promise
me never again to allow her to mesmerize you."
Agatha opened her eyes.
"Why, it was only
the other day that you were saying how interesting it all was, and how
determined you were to finish your experiments."
"I know, but I
have changed my mind since then."
"And you won't
have it any more?"
"No."
"I am so glad,
Austin. You can't think how pale and worn you have been lately. It was really
our principal objection to going to London now that we did not wish to leave
you when you were so pulled down. And your manner has been so strange
occasionally -- especially that night when you left poor Professor
Pratt-Haldane to play dummy. I am convinced that these experiments are very bad
for your nerves."
"I think so, too,
dear."
"And for Miss
Penclosa's nerves as well. You have heard that she is ill?"
"No."
"Mrs. Wilson told
us so last night. She described it as a nervous fever Professor Wilson is
coming back this week, and of course Mrs. Wilson is very anxious that Miss
Penclosa should be well again then, for he has quite a programme of experiments
which he is anxious to carry out."
I was glad to have
Agatha's promise, for it was enough that this woman should have one of us in
her clutch. On the other hand, I was disturbed to hear about Miss Penclosa's
illness. It rather discounts the victory which I appeared to win last night. I
remember that she said that loss of health interfered with her power. That may
be why I was able to hold my own so easily. Well, well, I must take the same
precautions to-night and see what comes of it. I am childishly frightened when
I think of her.
April 10. All went very
well last night. I was amused at the gardener's face when I had again to hail
him this morning and to ask him to throw up my key. I shall get a name among
the servants if this sort of thing goes on. But the great point is that I
stayed in my room without the slightest inclination to leave it. I do believe
that I am shaking myself clear of this incredible bond -- or is it only that
the woman's power is in abeyance until she recovers her strength? I can but
pray for the best.
The Mardens left this
morning, and the brightness seems to have gone out of the spring sunshine. And
yet it is very beautiful also as it gleams on the green chestnuts opposite my
windows, and gives a touch of gayety to the heavy, lichen-mottled walls of the
old colleges. How sweet and gentle and soothing is Nature! Who would think that
there lurked in her also such vile forces, such odious possibilities! For of
course I understand that this dreadful thing which has sprung out at me is
neither supernatural nor even preternatural. No, it is a natural force which
this woman can use and society is ignorant of. The mere fact that it ebbs with
her strength shows how entirely it is subject to physical laws. If I had time,
I might probe it to the bottom and lay my hands upon its antidote. But you
cannot tame the tiger when you are beneath his claws. You can but try to writhe
away from him. Ah, when I look in the glass and see my own dark eyes and
clear-cut Spanish face, I long for a vitriol splash or a bout of the small-pox.
One or the other might have saved me from this calamity.
I am inclined to think
that I may have trouble to- night. There are two things which make me fear so.
One is that I met Mrs. Wilson in the street, and that she tells me that Miss
Penclosa is better, though still weak. I find myself wishing in my heart that
the illness had been her last. The other is that Professor Wilson comes back in
a day or two, and his presence would act as a constraint upon her. I should not
fear our interviews if a third person were present. For both these reasons I
have a presentiment of trouble to- night, and I shall take the same precautions
as before.
April 10. No, thank
God, all went well last night. I really could not face the gardener again. I
locked my door and thrust the key underneath it, so that I had to ask the maid
to let me out in the morning. But the precaution was really not needed, for I
never had any inclination to go out at all. Three evenings in succession at home!
I am surely near the end of my troubles, for Wilson will be home again either
today or tomorrow. Shall I tell him of what I have gone through or not? I am
convinced that I should not have the slightest sympathy from him. He would look
upon me as an interesting case, and read a paper about me at the next meeting
of the Psychical Society, in which he would gravely discuss the possibility of
my being a deliberate liar, and weigh it against the chances of my being in an
early stage of lunacy. No, I shall get no comfort out of Wilson.
I am feeling
wonderfully fit and well. I don't think I ever lectured with greater spirit.
Oh, if I could only get this shadow off my life, how happy I should be! Young,
fairly wealthy, in the front rank of my profession, engaged to a beautiful and
charming girl -- have I not every thing which a man could ask for? Only one
thing to trouble me, but what a thing it is!
Midnight. I shall go
mad. Yes, that will be the end of it. I shall go mad. I am not far from it now.
My head throbs as I rest it on my hot hand. I am quivering all over like a
scared horse. Oh, what a night I have had! And yet I have some cause to be
satisfied also.
At the risk of becoming
the laughing-stock of my own servant, I again slipped my key under the door,
imprisoning myself for the night. Then, finding it too early to go to bed, I
lay down with my clothes on and began to read one of Dumas's novels. Suddenly I
was gripped -- gripped and dragged from the couch. It is only thus that I can
describe the overpowering nature of the force which pounced upon me. I clawed
at the coverlet. I clung to the wood-work. I believe that I screamed out in my
frenzy. It was all useless, hopeless. I must go. There was no way out of it. It
was only at the outset that I resisted. The force soon became too overmastering
for that. I thank goodness that there were no watchers there to interfere with
me. I could not have answered for myself if there had been. And, besides the
determination to get out, there came to me, also, the keenest and coolest
judgment in choosing my means. I lit a candle and endeavored, kneeling in front
of the door, to pull the key through with the feather-end of a quill pen. It
was just too short and pushed it further away. Then with quiet persistence I
got a paper-knife out of one of the drawers, and with that I managed to draw
the key back. I opened the door, stepped into my study, took a photograph of
myself from the bureau, wrote something across it, placed it in the inside
pocket of my coat, and then started off for Wilson's.
It was all wonderfully
clear, and yet disassociated from the rest of my life, as the incidents of even
the most vivid dream might be. A peculiar double consciousness possessed me.
There was the predominant alien will, which was bent upon drawing me to the
side of its owner, and there was the feebler protesting personality, which I
recognized as being myself, tugging feebly at the overmastering impulse as a
led terrier might at its chain. I can remember recognizing these two conflicting
forces, but I recall nothing of my walk, nor of how I was admitted to the
house.
Very vivid, however, is
my recollection of how I met Miss Penclosa. She was reclining on the sofa in
the little boudoir in which our experiments had usually been carried out. Her
head was rested on her hand, and a tiger-skin rug had been partly drawn over
her. She looked up expectantly as I entered, and, as the lamp- light fell upon
her face, I could see that she was very pale and thin, with dark hollows under
her eyes. She smiled at me, and pointed to a stool beside her. It was with her
left hand that she pointed, and I, running eagerly forward, seized it, -- I
loathe myself as I think of it, -- and pressed it passionately to my lips.
Then, seating myself upon the stool, and still retaining her hand, I gave her
the photograph which I had brought with me, and talked and talked and talked --
of my love for her, of my grief over her illness, of my joy at her recovery, of
the misery it was to me to be absent a single evening from her side. She lay
quietly looking down at me with imperious eyes and her provocative smile. Once
I remember that she passed her hand over my hair as one caresses a dog; and it
gave me pleasure -- the caress. I thrilled under it. I was her slave, body and
soul, and for the moment I rejoiced in my slavery.
And then came the
blessed change. Never tell me that there is not a Providence! I was on the
brink of perdition. My feet were on the edge. Was it a coincidence that at that
very instant help should come? No, no, no; there is a Providence, and its hand
has drawn me back. There is something in the universe stronger than this devil
woman with her tricks. Ah, what a balm to my heart it is to think so!
As I looked up at her I
was conscious of a change in her. Her face, which had been pale before, was now
ghastly. Her eyes were dull, and the lids drooped heavily over them. Above all,
the look of serene confidence had gone from her features. Her mouth had
weakened. Her forehead had puckered. She was frightened and undecided. And as I
watched the change my own spirit fluttered and struggled, trying hard to tear
itself from the grip which held it -- a grip which, from moment to moment, grew
less secure.
"Austin," she
whispered, "I have tried to do too much. I was not strong enough. I have
not recovered yet from my illness. But I could not live longer without seeing
you. You won't leave me, Austin? This is only a passing weakness. If you will
only give me five minutes, I shall be myself again. Give me the small decanter
from the table in the window."
But I had regained my
soul. With her waning strength the influence had cleared away from me and left
me free. And I was aggressive -- bitterly, fiercely aggressive. For once at
least I could make this woman understand what my real feelings toward her were.
My soul was filled with a hatred as bestial as the love against which it was a
reaction. It was the savage, murderous passion of the revolted serf. I could
have taken the crutch from her side and beaten her face in with it. She threw
her hands up, as if to avoid a blow, and cowered away from me into the corner
of the settee.
"The brandy!"
she gasped. "The brandy!"
I took the decanter and
poured it over the roots of a palm in the window. Then I snatched the
photograph from her hand and tore it into a hundred pieces.
"You vile
woman," I said, "if I did my duty to society, you would never leave
this room alive!"
"I love you,
Austin; I love you!" she wailed.
"Yes," I
cried, "and Charles Sadler before. And how many others before that?"
"Charles
Sadler!" she gasped. "He has spoken to you? So, Charles Sadler,
Charles Sadler!" Her voice came through her white lips like a snake's
hiss.
"Yes, I know you,
and others shall know you, too. You shameless creature! You knew how I stood.
And yet you used your vile power to bring me to your side. You may, perhaps, do
so again, but at least you will remember that you have heard me say that I love
Miss Marden from the bottom of my soul, and that I loathe you, abhor you! The
very sight of you and the sound of your voice fill me with horror and disgust.
The thought of you is repulsive. That is how I feel toward you, and if it pleases
you by your tricks to draw me again to your side as you have done to-night, you
will at least, I should think, have little satisfaction in trying to make a
lover out of a man who has told you his real opinion of you. You may put what
words you will into my mouth, but you cannot help remembering -- -- "
I stopped, for the
woman's head had fallen back, and she had fainted. She could not bear to hear
what I had to say to her! What a glow of satisfaction it gives me to think
that, come what may, in the future she can never misunderstand my true feelings
toward her. But what will occur in the future? What will she do next? I dare
not think of it. Oh, if only I could hope that she will leave me alone! But
when I think of what I said to her -- -- Never mind; I have been stronger than
she for once.
April 11. I hardly
slept last night, and found myself in the morning so unstrung and feverish that
I was compelled to ask Pratt-Haldane to do my lecture for me. It is the first
that I have ever missed. I rose at mid-day, but my head is aching, my hands
quivering, and my nerves in a pitiable state.
Who should come round
this evening but Wilson. He has just come back from London, where he has
lectured, read papers, convened meetings, exposed a medium, conducted a series
of experiments on thought transference, entertained Professor Richet of Paris,
spent hours gazing into a crystal, and obtained some evidence as to the passage
of matter through matter. All this he poured into my ears in a single gust.
"But you!" he
cried at last. "You are not looking well. And Miss Penclosa is quite
prostrated to-day. How about the experiments?"
"I have abandoned
them."
"Tut, tut!
Why?"
"The subject seems
to me to be a dangerous one."
Out came his big brown
note-book.
"This is of great
interest," said he. "What are your grounds for saying that it is a
dangerous one? Please give your facts in chronological order, with approximate
dates and names of reliable witnesses with their permanent addresses."
"First of
all," I asked, "would you tell me whether you have collected any
cases where the mesmerist has gained a command over the subject and has used it
for evil purposes?"
"Dozens!" he
cried exultantly. "Crime by suggestion -- -- "
"I don't mean
suggestion. I mean where a sudden impulse comes from a person at a distance --
an uncontrollable impulse."
"Obsession!"
he shrieked, in an ecstasy of delight. "It is the rarest condition. We
have eight cases, five well attested. You don't mean to say -- -- " His
exultation made him hardly articulate.
"No, I
don't," said I. "Good-evening! You will excuse me, but I am not very
well to-night." And so at last I got rid of him, still brandishing his
pencil and his note-book. My troubles may be bad to hear, but at least it is
better to hug them to myself than to have myself exhibited by Wilson, like a
freak at a fair. He has lost sight of human beings. Every thing to him is a
case and a phenomenon. I will die before I speak to him again upon the matter.
April 12. Yesterday was
a blessed day of quiet, and I enjoyed an uneventful night. Wilson's presence is
a great consolation. What can the woman do now? Surely, when she has heard me
say what I have said, she will conceive the same disgust for me which I have
for her. She could not, no, she could not, desire to have a lover who had
insulted her so. No, I believe I am free from her love -- but how about her
hate? Might she not use these powers of hers for revenge? Tut! why should I
frighten myself over shadows? She will forget about me, and I shall forget
about her, and all will be well.
April 13. My nerves
have quite recovered their tone. I really believe that I have conquered the
creature. But I must confess to living in some suspense. She is well again, for
I hear that she was driving with Mrs. Wilson in the High Street in the
afternoon.
April 14. I do wish I
could get away from the place altogether. I shall fly to Agatha's side the very
day that the term closes. I suppose it is pitiably weak of me, but this woman
gets upon my nerves most terribly. I have seen her again, and I have spoken
with her.
It was just after
lunch, and I was smoking a cigarette in my study, when I heard the step of my
servant Murray in the passage. I was languidly conscious that a second step was
audible behind, and had hardly troubled myself to speculate who it might be,
when suddenly a slight noise brought me out of my chair with my skin creeping
with apprehension. I had never particularly observed before what sort of sound
the tapping of a crutch was, but my quivering nerves told me that I heard it
now in the sharp wooden clack which alternated with the muffled thud of the
foot fall. Another instant and my servant had shown her in.
I did not attempt the
usual conventions of society, nor did she. I simply stood with the smouldering
cigarette in my hand, and gazed at her. She in her turn looked silently at me,
and at her look I remembered how in these very pages I had tried to define the
expression of her eyes, whether they were furtive or fierce. To-day they were
fierce -- coldly and inexorably so.
"Well," said
she at last, "are you still of the same mind as when I saw you last?"
"I have always
been of the same mind."
"Let us understand
each other, Professor Gilroy," said she slowly. "I am not a very safe
person to trifle with, as you should realize by now. It was you who asked me to
enter into a series of experiments with you, it was you who won my affections,
it was you who professed your love for me, it was you who brought me your own
photograph with words of affection upon it, and, finally, it was you who on the
very same evening thought fit to insult me most outrageously, addressing me as
no man has ever dared to speak to me yet. Tell me that those words came from
you in a moment of passion and I am prepared to forget and to forgive them. You
did not mean what you said, Austin? You do not really hate me?"
I might have pitied
this deformed woman -- such a longing for love broke suddenly through the
menace of her eyes. But then I thought of what I had gone through, and my heart
set like flint.
"If ever you heard
me speak of love," said I, "you know very well that it was your voice
which spoke, and not mine. The only words of truth which I have ever been able
to say to you are those which you heard when last we met."
"I know. Some one
has set you against me. It was he!" She tapped with her crutch upon the
floor. "Well, you know very well that I could bring you this instant
crouching like a spaniel to my feet. You will not find me again in my hour of
weakness, when you can insult me with impunity. Have a care what you are doing,
Professor Gilroy. You stand in a terrible position. You have not yet realized
the hold which I have upon you."
I shrugged my shoulders
and turned away.
"Well," said
she, after a pause, "if you despise my love, I must see what can be done
with fear. You smile, but the day will come when you will come screaming to me
for pardon. Yes, you will grovel on the ground before me, proud as you are, and
you will curse the day that ever you turned me from your best friend into your
most bitter enemy. Have a care, Professor Gilroy!" I saw a white hand
shaking in the air, and a face which was scarcely human, so convulsed was it
with passion. An instant later she was gone, and I heard the quick hobble and
tap receding down the passage.
But she has left a
weight upon my heart. Vague presentiments of coming misfortune lie heavy upon
me. I try in vain to persuade myself that these are only words of empty anger.
I can remember those relentless eyes too clearly to think so. What shall I do
-- ah, what shall I do? I am no longer master of my own soul. At any moment
this loathsome parasite may creep into me, and then -- -- I must tell some one
my hideous secret -- I must tell it or go mad. If I had some one to sympathize
and advise! Wilson is out of the question. Charles Sadler would understand me
only so far as his own experience carries him. Pratt-Haldane! He is a
well-balanced man, a man of great common-sense and resource. I will go to him.
I will tell him every thing. God grant that he may be able to advise me!
6.45 P. M. No, it is
useless. There is no human help for me; I must fight this out single-handed.
Two courses lie before me. I might become this woman's lover. Or I must endure
such persecutions as she can inflict upon me. Even if none come, I shall live
in a hell of apprehension. But she may torture me, she may drive me mad, she
may kill me: I will never, never, never give in. What can she inflict which
would be worse than the loss of Agatha, and the knowledge that I am a perjured
liar, and have forfeited the name of gentleman?
Pratt-Haldane was most
amiable, and listened with all politeness to my story. But when I looked at his
heavy set features, his slow eyes, and the ponderous study furniture which
surrounded him, I could hardly tell him what I had come to say. It was all so
substantial, so material. And, besides, what would I myself have said a short
month ago if one of my colleagues had come to me with a story of demonic
possession? Perhaps. I should have been less patient than he was. As it was, he
took notes of my statement, asked me how much tea I drank, how many hours I
slept, whether I had been overworking much, had I had sudden pains in the head,
evil dreams, singing in the ears, flashes before the eyes -- all questions
which pointed to his belief that brain congestion was at the bottom of my
trouble. Finally he dismissed me with a great many platitudes about open-air
exercise, and avoidance of nervous excitement. His prescription, which was for
chloral and bromide, I rolled up and threw into the gutter.
No, I can look for no
help from any human being. If I consult any more, they may put their heads
together and I may find myself in an asylum. I can but grip my courage with
both hands, and pray that an honest man may not be abandoned.
April 10. It is the
sweetest spring within the memory of man. So green, so mild, so beautiful! Ah,
what a contrast between nature without and my own soul so torn with doubt and
terror! It has been an uneventful day, but I know that I am on the edge of an
abyss. I know it, and yet I go on with the routine of my life. The one bright
spot is that Agatha is happy and well and out of all danger. If this creature
had a hand on each of us, what might she not do?
April 16. The woman is
ingenious in her torments. She knows how fond I am of my work, and how highly
my lectures are thought of. So it is from that point that she now attacks me.
It will end, I can see, in my losing my professorship, but I will fight to the
finish. She shall not drive me out of it without a struggle.
I was not conscious of
any change during my lecture this morning save that for a minute or two I had a
dizziness and swimminess which rapidly passed away. On the contrary, I
congratulated myself upon having made my subject (the functions of the red
corpuscles) both interesting and clear. I was surprised, therefore, when a
student came into my laboratory immediately after the lecture, and complained
of being puzzled by the discrepancy between my statements and those in the text
books. He showed me his note-book, in which I was reported as having in one
portion of the lecture championed the most outrageous and unscientific
heresies. Of course I denied it, and declared that he had misunderstood me, but
on comparing his notes with those of his companions, it became clear that he
was right, and that I really had made some most preposterous statements. Of
course I shall explain it away as being the result of a moment of aberration,
but I feel only too sure that it will be the first of a series. It is but a
month now to the end of the session, and I pray that I may be able to hold out
until then.
April 26. Ten days have
elapsed since I have had the heart to make any entry in my journal. Why should
I record my own humiliation and degradation? I had vowed never to open it
again. And yet the force of habit is strong, and here I find myself taking up
once more the record of my own dreadful experiences -- in much the same spirit
in which a suicide has been known to take notes of the effects of the poison
which killed him.
Well, the crash which I
had foreseen has come -- and that no further back than yesterday. The
university authorities have taken my lectureship from me. It has been done in
the most delicate way, purporting to be a temporary measure to relieve me from
the effects of overwork, and to give me the opportunity of recovering my
health. None the less, it has been done, and I am no longer Professor Gilroy.
The laboratory is still in my charge, but I have little doubt that that also
will soon go.
The fact is that my
lectures had become the laughing-stock of the university. My class was crowded
with students who came to see and hear what the eccentric professor would do or
say next. I cannot go into the detail of my humiliation. Oh, that devilish
woman! There is no depth of buffoonery and imbecility to which she has not
forced me. I would begin my lecture clearly and well, but always with the sense
of a coming eclipse. Then as I felt the influence I would struggle against it,
striving with clenched hands and beads of sweat upon my brow to get the better
of it, while the students, hearing my incoherent words and watching my
contortions, would roar with laughter at the antics of their professor. And
then, when she had once fairly mastered me, out would come the most outrageous
things -- silly jokes, sentiments as though I were proposing a toast, snatches
of ballads, personal abuse even against some member of my class. And then in a
moment my brain would clear again, and my lecture would proceed decorously to
the end. No wonder that my conduct has been the talk of the colleges. No wonder
that the University Senate has been compelled to take official notice of such a
scandal. Oh, that devilish woman!
And the most dreadful
part of it all is my own loneliness. Here I sit in a commonplace English bow-
window, looking out upon a commonplace English street with its garish 'buses
and its lounging policeman, and behind me there hangs a shadow which is out of
all keeping with the age and place. In the home of knowledge I am weighed down
and tortured by a power of which science knows nothing. No magistrate would
listen to me. No paper would discuss my case. No doctor would believe my
symptoms. My own most intimate friends would only look upon it as a sign of
brain derangement. I am out of all touch with my kind. Oh, that devilish woman!
Let her have a care! She may push me too far. When the law cannot help a man,
he may make a law for himself.
She met me in the High
Street yesterday evening and spoke to me. It was as well for her, perhaps, that
it was not between the hedges of a lonely country road. She asked me with her
cold smile whether I had been chastened yet. I did not deign to answer her.
"We must try another turn of the screw;" said she. Have a care, my
lady, have a care! I had her at my mercy once. Perhaps another chance may come.
April 28. The
suspension of my lectureship has had the effect also of taking away her means
of annoying me, and so I have enjoyed two blessed days of peace. After all, there
is no reason to despair. Sympathy pours in to me from all sides, and every one
agrees that it is my devotion to science and the arduous nature of my
researches which have shaken my nervous system. I have had the kindest message
from the council advising me to travel abroad, and expressing the confident
hope that I may be able to resume all my duties by the beginning of the summer
term. Nothing could be more flattering than their allusions to my career and to
my services to the university. It is only in misfortune that one can test one's
own popularity. This creature may weary of tormenting me, and then all may yet
be well. May God grant it!
April 29. Our sleepy
little town has had a small sensation. The only knowledge of crime which we
ever have is when a rowdy undergraduate breaks a few lamps or comes to blows
with a policeman. Last night, however, there was an attempt made to break-into
the branch of the Bank of England, and we are all in a flutter in consequence.
Parkenson, the manager,
is an intimate friend of mine, and I found him very much excited when I walked
round there after breakfast. Had the thieves broken into the counting-house,
they would still have had the safes to reckon with, so that the defence was
considerably stronger than the attack. Indeed, the latter does not appear to
have ever been very formidable. Two of the lower windows have marks as if a
chisel or some such instrument had been pushed under them to force them open.
The police should have a good clue, for the wood-work had been done with green
paint only the day before, and from the smears it is evident that some of it
has found its way on to the criminal's hands or clothes.
4.30 P. M. Ah, that
accursed woman! That thrice accursed woman! Never mind! She shall not beat me!
No, she shall not! But, oh, the she-devil! She has taken my professorship. Now
she would take my honor. Is there nothing I can do against her, nothing save --
-- Ah, but, hard pushed as I am, I cannot bring myself to think of that!
It was about an hour ago
that I went into my bedroom, and was brushing my hair before the glass, when
suddenly my eyes lit upon something which left me so sick and cold that I sat
down upon the edge of the bed and began to cry. It is many a long year since I
shed tears, but all my nerve was gone, and I could but sob and sob in impotent
grief and anger. There was my house jacket, the coat I usually wear after
dinner, hanging on its peg by the wardrobe, with the right sleeve thickly
crusted from wrist to elbow with daubs of green paint.
So this was what she
meant by another turn of the screw! She had made a public imbecile of me. Now
she would brand me as a criminal. This time she has failed. But how about the
next? I dare not think of it -- and of Agatha and my poor old mother! I wish
that I were dead!
Yes, this is the other
turn of the screw. And this is also what she meant, no doubt, when she said
that I had not realized yet the power she has over me. I look back at my
account of my conversation with her, and I see how she declared that with a
slight exertion of her will her subject would be conscious, and with a stronger
one unconscious. Last night I was unconscious. I could have sworn that I slept
soundly in my bed without so much as a dream. And yet those stains tell me that
I dressed, made my way out, attempted to open the bank windows, and returned.
Was I observed? Is it possible that some one saw me do it and followed me home?
Ah, what a hell my life has become! I have no peace, no rest. But my patience
is nearing its end.
10 P. M. I have cleaned
my coat with turpentine. I do not think that any one could have seen me. It was
with my screw-driver that I made the marks. I found it all crusted with paint,
and I have cleaned it. My head aches as if it would burst, and I have taken
five grains of antipyrine. If it were not for Agatha, I should have taken fifty
and had an end of it.
May 3. Three quiet
days. This hell fiend is like a cat with a mouse. She lets me loose only to
pounce upon me again. I am never so frightened as when every thing is still. My
physical state is deplorable -- perpetual hiccough and ptosis of the left
eyelid.
I have heard from the
Mardens that they will be back the day after to-morrow. I do not know whether I
am glad or sorry. They were safe in London. Once here they may be drawn into
the miserable network in which I am myself struggling. And I must tell them of
it. I cannot marry Agatha so long as I know that I am not responsible for my
own actions. Yes, I must tell them, even if it brings every thing to an end
between us.
To-night is the
university ball, and I must go. God knows I never felt less in the humor for
festivity, but I must not have it said that I am unfit to appear in public. If
I am seen there, and have speech with some of the elders of the university it
will go a long way toward showing them that it would be unjust to take my chair
away from me.
10 P. M. I have been to
the ball. Charles Sadler and I went together, but I have come away before him.
I shall wait up for him, however, for, indeed, I fear to go to sleep these
nights. He is a cheery, practical fellow, and a chat with him will steady my
nerves. On the whole, the evening was a great success. I talked to every one
who has influence, and I think that I made them realize that my chair is not
vacant quite yet. The creature was at the ball -- unable to dance, of course,
but sitting with Mrs. Wilson. Again and again her eyes rested upon me. They
were almost the last things I saw before I left the room. Once, as I sat
sideways to her, I watched her, and saw that her gaze was following some one
else. It was Sadler, who was dancing at the time with the second Miss Thurston.
To judge by her expression, it is well for him that he is not in her grip as I
am. He does not know the escape he has had. I think I hear his step in the
street now, and I will go down and let him in. If he will -- --
May 4. Why did I break
off in this way last night? I never went down stairs, after all -- at least, I
have no recollection of doing so. But, on the other hand, I cannot remember
going to bed. One of my hands is greatly swollen this morning, and yet I have
no remembrance of injuring it yesterday. Otherwise, I am feeling all the better
for last night's festivity. But I cannot understand how it is that I did not
meet Charles Sadler when I so fully intended to do so. Is it possible -- -- My
God, it is only too probable! Has she been leading me some devil's dance again?
I will go down to Sadler and ask him.
Mid-day. The thing has
come to a crisis. My life is not worth living. But, if I am to die, then she
shall come also. I will not leave her behind, to drive some other man mad as
she has me. No, I have come to the limit of my endurance. She has made me as desperate
and dangerous a man as walks the earth. God knows I have never had the heart to
hurt a fly, and yet, if I had my hands now upon that woman, she should never
leave this room alive. I shall see her this very day, and she shall learn what
she has to expect from me.
I went to Sadler and
found him, to my surprise, in bed. As I entered he sat up and turned a face
toward me which sickened me as I looked at it.
"Why, Sadler, what
has happened?" I cried, but my heart turned cold as I said it.
"Gilroy," he
answered, mumbling with his swollen lips, "I have for some weeks been
under the impression that you are a madman. Now I know it, and that you are a
dangerous one as well. If it were not that I am unwilling to make a scandal in
the college, you would now be in the hands of the police."
"Do you mean -- --
" I cried.
"I mean that as I
opened the door last night you rushed out upon me, struck me with both your
fists in the face, knocked me down, kicked me furiously in the side, and left
me lying almost unconscious in the street. Look at your own hand bearing
witness against you."
Yes, there it was,
puffed up, with sponge-like knuckles, as after some terrific blow. What could I
do? Though he put me down as a madman, I must tell him all. I sat by his bed
and went over all my troubles from the beginning. I poured them out with
quivering hands and burning words which might have carried conviction to the
most sceptical. "She hates you and she hates me!" I cried. "She
revenged herself last night on both of us at once. She saw me leave the ball,
and she must have seen you also. She knew how long it would take you to reach
home. Then she had but to use her wicked will. Ah, your bruised face is a small
thing beside my bruised soul!"
He was struck by my
story. That was evident. "Yes, yes, she watched me out of the room,"
he muttered. "She is capable of it. But is it possible that she has really
reduced you to this? What do you intend to do?"
"To stop it!"
I cried. "I am perfectly desperate; I shall give her fair warning to-day,
and the next time will be the last."
"Do nothing
rash," said he.
"Rash!" I
cried. "The only rash thing is that I should postpone it another
hour." With that I rushed to my room, and here I am on the eve of what may
be the great crisis of my life. I shall start at once. I have gained one thing
to-day, for I have made one man, at least, realize the truth of this monstrous
experience of mine. And, if the worst should happen, this diary remains as a
proof of the goad that has driven me.
Evening. When I came to
Wilson's, I was shown up, and found that he was sitting with Miss Penclosa. For
half an hour I had to endure his fussy talk about his recent research into the
exact nature of the spiritualistic rap, while the creature and I sat in silence
looking across the room at each other. I read a sinister amusement in her eyes,
and she must have seen hatred and menace in mine. I had almost despaired of
having speech with her when he was called from the room, and we were left for a
few moments together.
"Well, Professor
Gilroy -- or is it Mr. Gilroy?" said she, with that bitter smile of hers.
"How is your friend Mr. Charles Sadler after the ball?"
"You fiend!"
I cried. "You have come to the end of your tricks now. I will have no more
of them. Listen to what I say." I strode across and shook her roughly by
the shoulder "As sure as there is a God in heaven, I swear that if you try
another of your deviltries upon me I will have your life for it. Come what may,
I will have your life. I have come to the end of what a man can endure."
"Accounts are not
quite settled between us," said she, with a passion that equalled my own.
"I can love, and I can hate. You had your choice. You chose to spurn the
first; now you must test the other. It will take a little more to break your
spirit, I see, but broken it shall be. Miss Marden comes back to-morrow, as I
understand."
"What has that to
do with you?" I cried. "It is a pollution that you should dare even
to think of her. If I thought that you would harm her -- -- "
She was frightened, I
could see, though she tried to brazen it out. She read the black thought in my
mind, and cowered away from me.
"She is fortunate
in having such a champion," said she. "He actually dares to threaten
a lonely woman. I must really congratulate Miss Marden upon her
protector."
The words were bitter,
but the voice and manner were more acid still.
"There is no use
talking," said I. "I only came here to tell you, -- and to tell you
most solemnly, -- that your next outrage upon me will be your last." With
that, as I heard Wilson's step upon the stair, I walked from the room. Ay, she
may look venomous and deadly, but, for all that, she is beginning to see now
that she has as much to fear from me as I can have from her. Murder! It has an
ugly sound. But you don't talk of murdering a snake or of murdering a tiger.
Let her have a care now.
May 5. I met Agatha and
her mother at the station at eleven o'clock. She is looking so bright, so
happy, so beautiful. And she was so overjoyed to see me. What have I done to
deserve such love? I went back home with them, and we lunched together. All the
troubles seem in a moment to have been shredded back from my life. She tells me
that I am looking pale and worried and ill. The dear child puts it down to my
loneliness and the perfunctory attentions of a housekeeper. I pray that she may
never know the truth! May the shadow, if shadow there must be, lie ever black
across my life and leave hers in the sunshine. I have just come back from them,
feeling a new man. With her by my side I think that I could show a bold face to
any thing which life might send.
5 P. M. Now, let me try
to be accurate. Let me try to say exactly how it occurred. It is fresh in my
mind, and I can set it down correctly, though it is not likely that the time
will ever come when I shall forget the doings of to-day.
I had returned from the
Mardens' after lunch, and was cutting some microscopic sections in my freezing
microtome, when in an instant I lost consciousness in the sudden hateful
fashion which has become only too familiar to me of late.
When my senses came
back to me I was sitting in a small chamber, very different from the one in
which I had been working. It was cosey and bright, with chintz-covered settees,
colored hangings, and a thousand pretty little trifles upon the wall. A small
ornamental clock ticked in front of me, and the hands pointed to half-past
three. It was all quite familiar to me, and yet I stared about for a moment in
a half- dazed way until my eyes fell upon a cabinet photograph of myself upon
the top of the piano. On the other side stood one of Mrs. Marden. Then, of
course, I remembered where I was. It was Agatha's boudoir.
But how came I there,
and what did I want? A horrible sinking came to my heart. Had I been sent here
on some devilish errand? Had that errand already been done? Surely it must;
otherwise, why should I be allowed to come back to consciousness? Oh, the agony
of that moment! What had I done? I sprang to my feet in my despair, and as I
did so a small glass bottle fell from my knees on to the carpet.
It was unbroken, and I
picked it up. Outside was written "Sulphuric Acid. Fort." When I drew
the round glass stopper, a thick fume rose slowly up, and a pungent, choking
smell pervaded the room. I recognized it as one which I kept for chemical
testing in my chambers. But why had I brought a bottle of vitriol into Agatha's
chamber? Was it not this thick, reeking liquid with which jealous women had
been known to mar the beauty of their rivals? My heart stood still as I held
the bottle to the light. Thank God, it was full! No mischief had been done as
yet. But had Agatha come in a minute sooner, was it not certain that the
hellish parasite within me would have dashed the stuff into her -- -- Ah, it
will not bear to be thought of! But it must have been for that. Why else should
I have brought it? At the thought of what I might have done my worn nerves
broke down, and I sat shivering and twitching, the pitiable wreck of a man.
It was the sound of
Agatha's voice and the rustle of her dress which restored me. I looked up, and
saw her blue eyes, so full of tenderness and pity, gazing down at me.
"We must take you
away to the country, Austin," she said. "You want rest and quiet. You
look wretchedly ill."
"Oh, it is
nothing!" said I, trying to smile. "It was only a momentary weakness.
I am all right again now."
"I am so sorry to
keep you waiting. Poor boy, you must have been here quite half an hour! The
vicar was in the drawing-room, and, as I knew that you did not care for him, I
thought it better that Jane should show you up here. I thought the man would
never go!"
"Thank God he
stayed! Thank God he stayed!" I cried hysterically.
"Why, what is the
matter with you, Austin?" she asked, holding my arm as I staggered up from
the chair. "Why are you glad that the vicar stayed? And what is this
little bottle in your hand?"
"Nothing," I
cried, thrusting it into my pocket. "But I must go. I have something
important to do."
"How stern you
look, Austin! I have never seen your face like that. You are angry?"
"Yes, I am
angry."
"But not with
me?"
"No, no, my
darling! You would not understand."
"But you have not
told me why you came."
"I came to ask you
whether you would always love me -- no matter what I did, or what shadow might
fall on my name. Would you believe in me and trust me however black appearances
might be against me?"
"You know that I
would, Austin."
"Yes, I know that
you would. What I do I shall do for you. I am driven to it. There is no other
way out, my darling!" I kissed her and rushed from the room.
The time for indecision
was at an end. As long as the creature threatened my own prospects and my honor
there might be a question as to what I should do. But now, when Agatha -- my
innocent Agatha -- was endangered, my duty lay before me like a turnpike road.
I had no weapon, but I never paused for that. What weapon should I need, when I
felt every muscle quivering with the strength of a frenzied man? I ran through
the streets, so set upon what I had to do that I was only dimly conscious of
the faces of friends whom I met -- dimly conscious also that Professor Wilson
met me, running with equal precipitance in the opposite direction. Breathless
but resolute I reached the house and rang the bell. A white cheeked maid opened
the door, and turned whiter yet when she saw the face that looked in at her.
"Show me up at
once to Miss Penclosa," I demanded.
"Sir," she
gasped, "Miss Penclosa died this afternoon at half-past three!"
BY GEORGE DU MAURIER
TRILBY. A Novel. Illustrated by the Author. Post
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